


"It Is What It Is..."

by notjustmom



Series: Doodahs and Whatnots [15]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Missing Scene, Not A Fix-It, Scars, Sherlock's time away discussed, Spoilers, before they go out for cake, mentions of torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-10
Updated: 2017-01-11
Packaged: 2018-09-16 15:41:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9278375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notjustmom/pseuds/notjustmom
Summary: My take on what happens after the fade to black at the end of 'that' scene.





	1. Chapter 1

It suddenly occurred to Sherlock that on the day he fell from the roof of St. Bart's, he wasn't alone. John had fallen as well, it was only just now that he had landed. He and Mary had placed him on such a pedestal, by attempting to take responsibility for John's life, that he had no choice, but to fall. Sherlock put his mug down carefully and walked over to his friend, who had just crash landed, finally, in the middle of their lounge.

"It's okay." 

"It really isn't."

"No. It is what it is." Sherlock held John in a light embrace, only tightening his arms when he felt him begin to slip to the floor. "I have you, John. I have you, my friend."

"How can you - God. I'm so tired."

"I know, John. My room is closer. Can you walk a bit?"

John nodded as he allowed Sherlock to half carry him into the darkened room. Sherlock sat him gingerly on the edge of the bed, and spoke quietly to the slumped figure who bowed his head.

"I'm going to take your shoes off, how do you sleep best, John?"

"In my pants, but you don't have to -"

Sherlock removed John's shoes and socks, then unbuttoned his shirt, and helped him out of it. His breath hitched as he knelt in front of his friend and whispered, "John. I'm going to take your trousers off, it does not mean we are engaged."

John snorted and shook his head. "Please, don't -"

"Don't what?"

"I don't deserve this, Sherlock. I could have killed you in the morgue. If they hadn't come in and pulled me off -"

"You didn't, John. Everything is hurting right now, and you are finally letting it hurt. You've been numb for years, I'm guessing. And you are thawing out at the worst possible time. There, done." Sherlock tucked John into bed and turned to go.

"Stay, please. I don't have any right to ask you, but will you? Please?"

Sherlock nodded and walked over to the other side of the bed. He took off his dressing gown and slid in under the covers. John murmured, "thank you, Sherlock."

Sherlock nodded again, then closed his eyes, and waited for sleep to come.

When Molly arrived for her shift ten minutes later, she found them sound asleep; Sherlock curled protectively around his blogger, while John held onto the detective's slender wrist.

"Rest well, boys." She whispered to the room, then she pulled the covers over them and silently slipped out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, not sorry...needed to go there.

John stretched and pushed himself to a sitting position. He squinted against the bright January light. It was morning. He looked down at the clock on the bedside table. Not morning. Shit. 2 in the afternoon.

"Damn. I'm sorry, Sherlock." He saw his friend standing at the window, just standing, not playing his violin, not moving. "I messed up your birthday on top of everything else." No response. John groaned and slowly got out of bed. "Rosie?"

"With Molly and Greg."

John nodded. "Good. That's good." He stood up and walked towards his friend. "Sherlock." He stopped short when he saw Sherlock's bare back, streaked and dotted with scars. "Sherlock," he whispered. "Please."

"There's tea and some toast, I can make a full English, you must be starving, and you all seem to think I'm incapable of feeding myself, so the fridge is well stocked."

"Sherlock. How old? The scars, how old?"

"You want an estimated age, or the exact day, time and weather conditions?"

"Damn it, you know what I'm asking you."

"Serbia, Mycroft got me out a week before your aborted proposal attempt. Spent some time in Germany where they did what they could. Then got on a jet, stopped at the club for a haircut and shave, then..."

"Why didn't you -"

"Tell you?" Sherlock snorted. "Sure. Hi Mary, I'm Sherlock, John's former flatmate back from the dead, want to see some interesting results of being tortured for two months straight, in twenty-first century Serbia? It's actually quite simplistic, no sleep, no food and the water was undrinkable, and oh, yeah, they liked to use chains and cigarettes mostly, quite boring actually. I think that's how I finally gave them up -"

John moved closer to his friend, afraid to say anything, he knew anything he said would be the wrong thing. He reached out to touch Sherlock's shoulder and the detective shook his head. "I have never wanted your pity, John. I didn't want you to treat me any differently than you had before, I thought if I could just get home, home to you, to Baker Street, I'd be okay. It didn't quite go as planned."

"If I had known -"

"What? What would you have done differently, John? Would you have dropped Mary and taken care of me? Become gay suddenly, because you felt obligated?"

"That's not fair."

"No. That's why I never told you, because that is exactly what you would have done. I never wanted you to feel obliged to be my friend, John. I never wanted you to see, to know. I thought about never coming back, but I was selfish. It was a completely sentimental and emotional based response to surviving being dead, I suppose. It was unfair to you. And I am so sorry, John. If I had stayed away, Mary would still be -"

"Dead. You know that as well as I do, if Vivian Norbury hadn't killed her, someone else would have found her. You tried, Sherlock, you almost killed yourself trying to keep her safe. She adored you, from the moment she met you. She could see you, like I do, Sherlock, and she loved you."

"I loved her too, John."

"I know, Sherlock, so did she."

Sherlock cleared his throat, and finally turned towards John. His ribs still showed the bruises from a fortnight ago, and the gash over his eye would definitely leave a scar.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I - I don't know what I can say to make things right, I don't even know where to start. I don't deserve to be your friend; friends don't do what I did to you."

"John. It is what it is, we are what we are. I have done things to you that I try to delete because I can't believe I hurt you in the ways that I did. But, I can't, I have tried to learn from my mistakes; you see, I had always been alone before I met you, it has taken me a long time to learn how to think of other people before myself. I guess I have a tendency to overcompensate."

John snorted and whispered, "don't we all."

"Can we start over?"

"Start over?"

Sherlock nodded and offered John his hand. "Sherlock Holmes. Consulting Detective. Bit of a drama queen, or so I've been told."

John bit his lip, but took Sherlock's hand in his. "John Watson. Former Army Surgeon known to have a romantic streak."

"Breakfast?"

"Please, but I'll make the coffee."


End file.
